


I Have Been Bent and Broken, but I Hope into a Better Shape

by kingofthelab



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, High School, M/M, Mixture of book and movie, None of Them Forget, Past Suicide Attempt, stan centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-13 06:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofthelab/pseuds/kingofthelab
Summary: The first day of a new semester always sucked, but this year the third day in really took the cake.  They were assigned lab partners in Chemistry that morning, and Stan got paired up with Eddie.ORStan tried to kill himself.  Two years later, after Stan and Richie distance themselves from the rest of the Losers, they find themselves being pulled back towards their old friends.ORThe fic that can't decide if it wants to be a Mike/Stan romance fic or a Richie and Stan friendship fic.





	1. Try Not to Panic

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Mention of a past suicide attempt. There are no graphic descriptions.
> 
> Title is a quote from Charles Dickens' Great Expectations

#### 1.

Stan stands out back, leaning against the side of the school, the bricks digging uncomfortably in his back.  Waiting for Richie.  He takes a drag of his cigarette and inhales, reveling in the warm and burning sensation.  In the tightening of his lungs.  He clings onto this moment, warm and full, before his lungs start to scream.  His breath hitches, and he exhales slowly, shakily, his head going fuzzy.

Today was a shit day.

The first day of a new semester always sucked, but this year the third day in really took the cake.  They were assigned lab partners in Chemistry that morning, and he got paired up with Eddie.  After Miss Walsh called their names, he tensed, sure that Eddie wouldn’t work with him.  That he would refuse and throw one of his Eddie fits.  Or that he just wouldn’t talk to Stan the whole time, anger radiating off of him as he did the assignment all on his own.  Snapping at Stan only now and then when he really needed his help.

But it was worse than that.  Eddie just smiled at him, a little “what are you going to do” stretch of the lips, and began work, directing Stan this way and that as they completed the assignment.  

Eddie acted perfectly cordial all period, but besides his initial grin, he didn’t acknowledge that they had known each other at all before this class.  He made no jokes, asked no personal questions, and, the most glaringly obvious of all, didn’t touch Stan or any of his stuff.  It was like a really bad dance, where the goal was to repel your partner away from you.  When the bell rang, they both reached for their paper to turn it in, their hands slightly brushing.  Eddie had torn his hand away, his face flushing.  “Go ahead,” he muttered, and turned to leave the room, not waiting for a response.

Stan had felt like the blood had frozen in his body, and his mouth and neck were suddenly itchy.  He curled his hands in and out of fists, and his fingers itched to chuck his textbook across the room.  Instead, he picked it up and held it against his chest, tapping it three times before he headed to the front of the class and turned in their work.

He followed Eddie into the hallway after that, and saw him over by his locker, talking to Bill.  Eddie looked up, and they made eye contact.  For a brief moment Stan saw that angry Eddie he was worried about at the beginning of the period.  But then Eddie turned away, and angled his head towards Bill, smiling.

Stan pushes off against the side of the school, and drops the butt of his cigarette.  He steps on it, rolling the cigarette between his shoe and the cement.  It hurts him a little, to leave it there, sitting on the ground.  He has to fight to not lean down, collect the mess he made (every stupid ash), and dispose of it properly.  It doesn’t matter how many times he does it, he can’t quite shut the voice up in his head.  He tugs at the edge of his sleeves with his fingers instead, shifting them to cover his finger tips.  

Screw Richie.  He picks up his backpack and slings it over his shoulders.  He gets about half a block before he turns around, and walks back to the school and to his spot on the wall.  He leans his head up against the brick, a little harder than necessary.  Then, he reaches into his backpack, and pulls out his pack of Winstons.  He’s shaking a little, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, as he digs in his pocket for a lighter.  

Where the fuck is Richie?  He angrily wipes at his face, and leans his head back.  His breath hitches and he looks down, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and wiping his nose with his sleeve.  

When he looks back up, he swears his heart shudders.  He sees Mike, at the edge of the football field, in his practice gear, away from the rest of his teammates.  He’s sucked his bottom lip up into his mouth, biting it, staring at Stan.  The unlit cigarette slips from Stan’s fingers.  Mike sees Stan looking, tilts his head to the side, and mouths, “Are you okay?”

It’s then that the door finally bursts open.  Stan flinches, and tears his eyes away from Mike.

“Stan the Man!”  Richie yells, grinning from ear to ear.  “Aw, where you waiting for me?”

Stan schools his face so as not to smile.  He didn’t realize how tense he was until he feels his body relaxing, his shoulders melting away from his neck.  

“It’s not like we don’t walk home from school together every day you numb nuts.”  He grins a little at Richie then, and Richie laughs.  Stan just rolls his eyes.  “Let’s just go the fuck home, okay?”

“Whatever you say Darling,” Richie practically purrs, as he slings his arm across Stan’s shoulder.  Stan turns a little, as they leave, looking back at the football field.  He sees Mike trotting across the grass, back to the rest of the team.  

#### 2.

Besides Bev and Richie, it’s been about two years since Stan has really talked to any of the other Losers.  And even then, he rarely talks to Bev - the odd smoke break, a few movie nights.  If too much time passes, Bev will reach back out and touch base.  Just enough to let him and Richie know that she is still there.  Just enough so that they are still connected.  

It’s Stan’s fault.  He still feels a little guilty that he dragged Richie away with him.  Away from them.  He tries to tell himself that Richie didn’t have to follow his lead.  That if Richie had still wanted to be friends with them, he could be.  Stan knows it isn’t true, but he tries not to dwell on it.

All because he was stupid and selfish.  He knew that before he did it.  That’s why he chose to do it when his parents were away for the weekend.  When there shouldn’t have been anyone there to help him.  Even as he sat in the tub, terrified of what he was about to do, all he could think of where those cold and dark sewers that they’d trekked through.  About the death and rot that clung in the tunnels, permanently rooting their way into his mind.  It wasn’t dead, and nothing could convince him otherwise.  So he told himself it was better this way.

It was Richie that found him, sitting in the tub, bleeding out.  He’s lucky Richie got there when he did, and that Richie acted so quickly.  

The first thing he remembers After was waking up in the hospital, his parents crying, the fear and shock struck on their faces, demanding to know why.  He cried too and begged them not to tell anyone.  That only made them cry harder, asking over and over, to just tell them _why._ But he only had eyes for Richie - for his best friend - hunched over and lost.  His face completely blank and devoid of expression.  He looked like a two year old who had just lost their toy; not really comprehending what just happened, but knowing that they were upset.  Stan had never seen that look on Richie’s face before.  He was more scared in that moment, looking at Richie, than he had been sitting in the tub, the knife gripped in his hand.  That was when he knew how bad he’d fucked up.

Later, as they lay in his bed, tears streaming down Stan’s face, he pleaded with Richie not to tell the others.  Richie had hauled Stan closer, closing what little gap there was between them and promised him that he would do anything Stan wanted him to.  “Anything Stan.  Anything.  Please, just…  Anything, ok?”  

And, true to his word, he didn’t tell them.  They hung out with the Losers another month after that, but Stan just couldn’t take it anymore.  So Richie stepped in for him and distanced them from the others.  He slowly detangled the Losers from their lives, one string at a time, until summer hit and it didn’t even seem weird that they weren’t hanging out.  When they started high school the next year, they barely even crossed paths with the others.

It was hardest to stay away from Mike, but also the most essential.  Stan and him had grown close Before.  They went over to Mike’s after school almost every day for a while, just the two of them, spending their afternoons working on his dad’s farm.  It helped Stan, after being so wound up all day, to let loose; to push his body and to spill his thoughts to Mike - detailing his list of complaints and wrongnesses of the day as they worked.  And Mike always new the best way to react.  He knew when to be sympathetic and listen, and when to push Stan, helping him open up and understand himself better.  Stan felt impossibly at ease around Mike.  

But Stan had almost told him what happened two different times, and he didn’t think he could stand the way Mike would look at him after he knew.  He imagined it would be a cross between pity and disgust, and that afterwards Mike would think of him as a coward, who could break at any moment.  It was better to just not see him at all.  

Even after Stan stopped talking to the Losers, Mike would still smile at him in the hall and would sometimes wave to him at lunch.  Stan doesn’t know if this makes him feel better or worse (he's pretty sure it's worse).  And now, Stan’s been hearing rumors that Mr. Hanlon is sick.  He feels guilty that he can't just walk up to Mike and ask.  To make sure he’s okay.

Stan misses all of them.  Of course he does.  Every time he sees them at school it hits him - the longing to belong with them still, and then the loathing and disgust he feels for himself.

#### 3.

Stan doesn’t tell Richie that Eddie will be his lab partner for the foreseeable future.  He opens his mouth to at least half a dozen times that night, but he doesn’t think he could take the look of hope that would cross Richie’s face.  

So, he keeps his mouth shut, and the next morning he treks into Chemistry, and sits next to Eddie.  He isn’t quite sure what to do or say, and he’s suddenly very aware of his hands.

He clears his throat.  “Hey, Eddie...”  Eddie looks up at him, brow furrowed.  Stan realizes it sounds like he has more to say, that Eddie’s sitting there, waiting for him to say something else.  He opens and closes his mouth.  Clears his throat.  “You, uh...enjoy the reading last night?”  

Eddie blinks, tilts his head, and parts his lips, like he has no idea how to respond to this.  Luckily, neither of them have to find out what he would have said, as Miss Walsh stands up, and starts the class.  

Stan quickly turns his direction towards Miss Walsh, but he can see that Eddie’s still looking at him.  Studying him a moment longer before he pulls out his notebook, and focuses on the lecture.  Stan curls his hands together under the desk, intertwining his fingers and applying pressure.  He shoves his left thumb on top of his right one and presses down hard.  He inhales.  Then grabs his pen and tries to orient himself into the class.  

When the lecture ends, Stan has a collection of garbled notes.  He had kept getting distracted during class, watching Eddie take notes out of the corner of his eyes, neat handwriting crowding the margins, pressing down too hard with his pencil.  A couple of times Stan expected the lead to snap.

There’s a couple minutes still before the period is over, and they’re supposed to be looking at the Discussion Topics in their books, reading through them in order to “better understand the material.”  The rest of the classroom has broken out into chatter - loud enough so that Stan knows they aren’t talking about Chemistry, but quiet enough so that Miss Walsh won’t say anything.  Stan stares at the topics.  Not really seeing them.

“You don’t have to talk to me, you know.”  Eddie says, not looking up from his textbook.

Stan jerks his head up.  “What?”

Eddie turns to him now, voice even, face neutral.  “Just because we’re lab partners, we don’t have to talk.  We can just work together when we have to.  Ignore each other the rest of the time.  It’s fine.  Nothing has to change.”

Stan doesn’t say anything.  Eddie goes back to the textbook.  

The bell rings, and Eddie looks at Stan and smiles.  “See you tomorrow Stan.”  Stan tries to reciprocate the motion, lifting the corners of his lips up, but Eddie’s already out the door.

4.

Stan thinks he’s going to be sick.  That’s what he tells himself as the second bell rings, indicating that he should be in English class.  He stands in the bathroom, head lolled down over the sink, hands gripping the cold porcelain, water running for no reason.  

His brain scolds him, telling him that this is wrong.  He should be in class.  What the fuck is he freaking out over anyways?  He was the one who distanced himself from the others.  Why would they want to talk to him after that?  

He turns off the water, avoids looking at the mirror, and sneaks outside for a smoke.  The moment he sits on the cold, dirty cement though, he starts to cry.  Tears stream down his face.  His chest tightens, his shoulders shake.  He can’t breathe - he can’t control it.  He starts to sob - an ugly, gasping noise.  It sound like his lungs grew mouths, and started screaming for him.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there like that before he feels a hand at the bottom of his spine, pulling him towards a big, warm chest.  He feels a hand move to his shoulder, thumb circling lightly.  Clockwise, clockwise.  Counterclockwise, counterclockwise.  Directly in his ear he hears, “Breathe.  Good, good breathe with me.”  He focuses on that, and on the thumb slowly repeating the pattern - clockwise, clockwise, counterclockwise, counterclockwise.   He clutches onto the shirt in front of him.  Green, he notes, before he closes his eyes.

Once he calms down, he leans onto the person's shoulder.  He doesn’t want to open his eyes.  He knows it’s Mike, but once he opens his eyes he’ll _know_ it’s Mike.  And he doesn’t want to pull away from those familiar, comforting hands - suddenly feeling very warm where they touch him.  Not yet.  He’s missed the feeling too much.  So he keeps his eyes closed.

“You okay Stan?”

Stan nods into Mike.  “You’re really good at that, you know?”  He instantly wants to take it back, suck the words back into his mouth.  He opens his eyes, and feels his face flush.  

But Mike’s chuckling, and he feels more than hears it.  Mike tilts his head down to look at Stan.  Their faces are so close.  “Well, I’ve had practice.”  

Stan’s eyes trail down to Mike’s lips, plush and slightly parted.  Stan’s breath hitches.  He sits back, and Mike’s hands fall from his body.  Stan leans against the wall and closes his eyes.  The words Mike said suddenly sink in and he sits up.  “Practice?  Who, uh,” he shakes his head.  “Who?”

Mike leans his head against the wall, not taking his eyes off Stan.  “Eddie.  He had panic attacks every day there for a while.  After…” Mike’s voices trails off.  He shrugs.  “You know.”

“He...he did?  When?  I don’t-”

“He didn’t tell anyone else until recently.  He was embarrassed.”  Mike looks away.  “I probably shouldn’t be telling you, but...”  Stan bites his lower lip.  He wasn’t entirely sure why Mike _was_ telling him this.  Mike shrugs again.  “He told me he thinks he’d been having them for a while before too.  Never had asthma.  Did he ever tell you that?”  Stan shakes his head no.

Mike fumbles with his hands.  “No, it wasn’t until high school that he told the others.”  Stan feels that lump in his throat again, and he twists his head away from Mike.  “His mom lied to him.  He never had asthma, just some pretty bad panic attacks.”  Stan shifts, angling his body away from Mike.  “He started to get them more after, of course.  Not when we were all together, but when he’d go home to his mom.  He called me one night the summer between 7th and 8th grade.  I wasn’t sure if he meant to call me, or if he just couldn’t get ahold of Richie.”  Stan curls his hands into fists.  “I never really asked.”  Stan’s eyes are closed and his shoulders are shaking.  

“Shit.  Stan?”  He feels a hand on his shoulder.  He tries to shrug it off, but he’s shaking more now.  “Stan, I’m sorry, I didn’t…”  Stan scoots further away.  “Stan…”  He feels a warm hand envelope his and he can’t stand it anymore.  He turns back, and leans into Mike.  His body shakes, silently sobbing in Mike’s arms.  

“You can talk to us, you know?  It doesn’t matter okay, you can always talk to us.”  Mike buries his head in Stan’s curly hair.  “To me.”

Stan takes a deep breath.  And then another.  Trying to still his body.  “I can’t,” he finally says, not even sure if Mike can hear him.  But Mike tugs him closer, tucking Stan’s head under his chin.

5.

They sit that way for a while, until Stan breaks the quiet and say, “I should get back to class.”  His voice is rough, like he hasn’t used it all day.  

Mike nods, not taking his eyes off Stan as he stands.  “Are you going to be okay?”

Stan laughs at that, an involuntary force of air.  He looks down at Mike and feels himself smiling.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I’ll be okay.”  He stares at his hands, but he can see Mike standing in his peripheral, brushing the dirt off his pants.  “Thanks Mike.  You...you didn’t have to.”

Mike doesn’t miss a beat.  “Of course I did.”

Stan peaks up at him from under his lashes.  “You were always too nice for your own good, you know that Mike?”  

He’s rewarded with the hint of a flush on Mike’s neck, barely coming through on Mike’s dark skin, and a soft smile on his lips.  Mike looks like he’s about to step forward, but then thinks better of it.  “I’ll see you, ok Stan?”  It’s not a question, it’s a contract.  Like Richie used to do every time he’d leave Stan’s house for the first couple of months After, letting Stan know that he _would_ be seeing him tomorrow.  That Richie would never forgive him for anything less.  

“Yeah.”  Stan tugs his sleeves down.  “Yeah, I’ll see you around Mike.”


	2. A Richie Tozier Sanctioned Skip Day

#### 1.

After Stan left Mike outside, he went directly to the office and told the attendant that he had just thrown up and needed to go home for the rest of the day.  One look at his tear stricken and pale face, and he had been marked in the book and was free to go.

He was a little worried that his mom would be home when he got back, and that she’d fret over him; hovering to make sure he was okay.  It’s sweet, he knows, but the last the thing he needs right now.  Luckily she’s out, and he goes directly to his room and curls up in his bed.  He knows that he can’t just skip school every time he panics.  But today, he doesn’t care.  Today, he’ll take it.  

He has just started to doze off, with the thought of dark, pouty lips on his, when he hears a pounding on the door.  He pushes his face into his pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, willing whoever was there to go away.  Eventually they do.  He relaxes.  And then _tap, tap, tap._ Stan lurches up, and sees Richie standing at his window.  Stan rushes to the window to open it.

“Richie, what are you doing here?  You’ll get in trouble for skipping.”

“Well, that didn’t seem to deter you, did it?”  Richie asks, stepping through the window.

“I’m _sick_.”

“You don’t look very sick to me,” Richie says, flopping down on Stan’s bed.

Stan narrows his eyes.  “Maybe not.  But as far as the office knows I am.  I didn’t just walk out of school.”

“I am hurt that you think so little of me Stanny!  How do you know that I didn’t go see the attendant myself?  I have been feeling a little under the weather recently.”  He makes a fake coughing noise into his fist, and sticks out his bottom lip in an over-exaggerated way.

Stan rolls his eyes.  “Yes.  You could have.  But we both know you didn’t.”

Richie shrugs.  “Well, when you didn’t show up to pre-calc I was worried.  I went to the office and sweet talked Anita into telling me that you left early.  Some sort of stomach bug?”  Richie sits up and looks at him.  “You just admitted to me that you’re not sick.”  Richie tilts his head.  “What’s going on?”

Stan flushes, and sits down at the edge of his bed.  “Nothing’s wrong.  Can’t I just ditch school?  You do it all the time.”

Stan can hear the frown in Richie’s voice.  “Yeah, but _you_ don’t.  And you never do without me having to drag you out first.”  Richie shifts so he’s laying on his stomach, head next to Stan.  “So tell me, what’s wrong?”

“Do you ever resent me for it?”  The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself.  He looks down at Richie, whose face has gone pale.  Stan rushes to continue.  “You know, for dragging you away from the rest of the Losers?”  Richie’s shoulders loosen.  

“Stan, no, of course not-”

“Don’t-”  Stan pushes his hair back, and slumps backwards on the bed.  “Don’t do that Richie.  Don’t just brush it off.  I want you to tell me the truth.”

Richie pulls himself up into a sitting position.  “I _am_ telling the truth Stan.”

“And you’re seriously telling me that you don’t miss them?”

“Of _course_ I miss them.  How could I deny that?  But it isn’t your fault.”

Stan throws his hands over his face.  “How can you even say that!  If it hadn’t been for…  If I hadn’t been so-”

“I was drowning too.”  Stan pulls his hands down from his eyes, peeking up at Richie.  Richie has pulled his legs in.  “When it happened.  I wasn’t… I wasn’t doing so good.  And it was starting to be hard to be around them.  I didn’t know how to talk to them about it, and they all seemed like…”  Richie pushes his face into his knees.  “I don’t know, like-”

“They’d all moved on,” Stan says quietly.

Richie nods.  “I know that that wasn’t the case.  I’ve,”  Richie clears his throat.  “I’ve been talking to Bev and I know that none of them were okay.   _Are_ okay, really.  And yeah, of course I regret pulling away from them.  But that’s not just on you Stan, okay?  It was my decision.  One I had been thinking about more and more before you… you know.”

Stan sits up, cross legged, and nudges Richie with his knee.  Stan isn’t surprised to hear Richie’s been talking more to Bev.  He’s glad, if not a little jealous, to know that he’s been keeping up with her.  “Do you ever think about talking to them now?”  Stan asks.

Richie laughs.  “Yeah.  But I don’t…   I don’t really know how I’d even go about it.”

Stan’s chest constricts.  He should tell him about Eddie.  About Mike.  It’s the perfect opening.  He’s not really sure how he feels about it still, but that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t tell him.

“Hey,” Richie says, pulling Stan from his thoughts.  Richie’s grinning.  It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Do you want to go bird watching?  It’s been forever since we’ve been out.”

2.

“So that’s-”  Richie squints through his glasses, down at the book in front of him.  And then back up at the bird.  “A bay breasted warbler?”

Stan smiles, “Close.”  He reaches over and flips through the pages.  “That one’s actually a palm warbler.”  

Richie leans back his head and groans.  “Jesus Stan, how many warblers are there?  Palm warbler, green warbler, foot warbler.  They all look exactly the same!”  He looks down at the book.  “And these breasted warblers don’t even have good tits!  How is that any fun?”

Stan let’s out a little huff, pretending to be put off.  “Hey, you’re the one who suggested bird watching, not me.”

Richie jumps up from the bench.  “Wow, wow, wow, you’re not putting this on me!  This is not a sanctioned Richie Tozier Skip Day activity!”  

Stan tilts his head in mock confusion.  “Then I guess you’re saying that you’d rather go back to school?”

Richie glares at Stan.  “I’m not sure how I got here, backed in a corner by one Stan the Man, but I don’t think I like it.”  

Stan lifts his eyebrows and starts to giggle at Richie’s expression.  It doesn’t take very long until Richie sits back down and joins in.  Soon, they’re leaning against each other, in a fit of giggles.  

“Stan gets off a good one,” Richie says when they catch their breaths.  He wipes at his eyes and stands up from the bench again.  “Where to next?  If we want to catch ‘em all we’d better get going.”

Stan leans his head back against the bench and closes his eyes.  “Let’s just stay here for awhile.  Enjoy the sun.”  

“Oh.  Okay.”  Richie sits back down and is surprisingly quiet.  

They sit there, listening to the birds talk to each other, to the distant sound of traffic, to the air, rustling the leaves.  

“Hey, Stan?”  Richie finally says.  Stan looks over at Richie.  He’s biting his lip, looking at the ground.

“Yeah?  Richie?”  

“I was wondering.  Bev was telling me about this party.  Down at the quarry tomorrow after school.  Sort of a “surviving the first week” type thing.  Would you...would you want to go?”

Stan swallows.  He pictures the quarry at night.  A fire.  A crowd of kids, drunk off their asses, hollering and laughing.  Mike, in that soft green shirt, drink in one hand, walking over to him, smiling.  Stan bites his lip hard, and tastes blood.  It’s the last thing he wants to do.  “Richie-”

“I mean, I was just thinking, it would be good for us, you know.”  Richie takes a breath.  “Get out.  Act normal.  Maybe make out with a few strangers.”  Richie elbows Stan.  “Maybe more?”  He arches his eyebrow, finally turning to look at Stan, who has folded his hands in his lap, gripping hard.  Richie’s smile automatically fades.  “Or not.  You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.  Obviously.  We can do something else.  Go to the Aladdin.  I heard that-”

“Richie.”  Richie stops talking.  Stan takes a shaky breath.  Richie shouldn’t have to stay in on his account.  “You should go if you want to.”

Richie waves his hand at him.  “No, no it was just a thought.  It’ll just be a bunch of people we hate anyways, right?”

Stan exhales.  After everything Richie has done for him, going to this stupid party is the least of what he owes him.  “You really want me to go with you, don’t you?”

“It’s fine, I-”

“Richie.”  

Richie looks down.  “Yeah.”

“Okay.”  

Richie’s head jolts back up, clearly surprised.  “What?”

Stan turns to him, and makes himself smile.  “Okay.  You’re right.  It’ll be good for us.  Blow off some steam, forget our worries and all that.”  Stan looks down.  “You’ll have to help me pick out something to wear though.”  

Richie jumps up.  “Stanley, am I hearing this correctly?  Not only have you agreed to go to a party with me, but your stipulation is that _you are giving me access to your closet?_ Oooo, honey you are going to look so fine!”  

Stan laughs, and lets out a little groan.  “I’m already regretting this.”

“Oh, no no no you don’t!  No take-backsies!  The damage has been done!”  Richie reaches down and grabs Stan’s hand, pulling him up.  “Let’s go look now.  Pick out something real pretty for you.”

Stan follows Richie down the path.  “Calling it “damage” isn’t really doing a good job of calming me you know.”  But Stan’s laughing now, and he realizes his smile isn’t fake anymore.

3.

The next day is another lab day, and it starts out much the same as the previous one.  Eddie takes the lead, and Stan just follows.  It still bothers Stan how distant Eddie is, but he knows it’s completely warranted.  In fact, it’s what Stan worked so hard to accomplish two years ago.  

Stan bites his lip and thinks about Richie.  Despite what Richie said the day before, Stan still feels responsible for pulling him away from the others.  Maybe Richie would have distanced himself anyways, like he said.  Or, more likely, he would have isolated himself only until one of the others realized what he was doing, and pulled them all back together.  

Stan looks over at Eddie.  Maybe, he thinks, he can try to start to mend things.  And the forced interactions a classroom provides would be a great way to start.  

Stan clears his throat.  “Hey Eddie, you going to the party at the quarry tonight?”

Eddie’s hand bumps their beaker of water, sloshing it slightly but not spilling it.  Eddie glares at Stan.  “Dude.  Lab safety.  Don’t distract me.  And hand me those matches.”

Stan raises his eyebrows, and reaches for the matches.  “It was just water Eddie, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if it spilled.”  Stan mentally kicks himself.  This probably isn’t the best way to mend bridges.

Eddie holds out his hands for the matches, eyes narrowed.  “Today it’s water, tomorrow it’s acid.  We have to practice lab safety Stan so that there won’t be accidents when it matters.  I’m surprised you, of all people, don’t get that.”  

It stings a little.  Stan can’t help feeling like what Eddie’s really saying is, _We used to be alike, you and me Stan.  But then you left and I would never do that.  Who the hell knows what you’re like now._

He places the matches in Eddie’s hand, and ignores the comment.

“You never answered my question Eddie, are you going to the party?”

Eddie frowns, and places the beaker up on the wire gauze.  “Bev’s forcing us to go,” he says reluctantly.  “Believe me, if it were up to me, I’d stay home.”  He lights a match, and brings it up to the candle.

Stan smiles.  “Me too.  But Richie really wanted to go.”  

Eddie glances over at Stan, causing him to holds onto the match too long.  The flame touches his thumb, and he flinches, and quickly blows it out.  

“Damn it,” he mutters to himself.  

It doesn’t look bad, but Stan grimaces.  He reaches over and takes a hold of Eddie’s hand.  “Shit Eddie, are you alright?”

Eddie tears his hand away.  “I’m _fine.”_ He turns back to the assignment.  “Give me the thermometer again?”

“I’m sorry.”  Stan mutters.  

Eddie stops, and closes his eyes.  He looks down and says.  “Stan.  Can we please just do the assignment?  I’m just respecting your wishes okay?   _You_ left _us_ , remember?”

Stan’s stomach curls a little, and he nods.  And clears his throat.  “What’s the next step?”

The rest of the class goes by just as smoothly, if a little less cordially, as the first lab.  Stan feels stupid how relieved he is that he doesn’t have a panic attack.

When the bell rings, Eddie snatches up the assignment, and heads to the front of the room.  Stan follows him out the door.  

Bill is waiting at the door for Eddie.  He must have class next door.  Bill looks at Eddie’s scowling face and grimaces.  He glances back at Stan, and gives him  the smallest, faintest smile.  Stan isn’t sure what to make of this.

4.

After school, Stan sits on the cement, leans against the school, and waits for Richie.  That boy doesn’t know what being on time is.  

He’s not there for more than a couple minutes before Mike rounds the corner.  When Mike sees him, he grins, and heads over.  Stan’s stomach flips as Mike walks up, and asks, “Is this seat taken?”

Stan flushes, and peaks up at Mike.  “Don’t you have practice?”

Mike shrugs.  “It doesn’t start for another half an hour.  I got some time to kill.”

Mike sits next to him.  He smells like grain and soil, and slightly of mint.  Stan takes a deep inhale.  He didn’t know he’d missed that smell.

“What’s your schedule like?”  Mike asks, and it startles Stan a little.  He reaches into his back pocket for his folded and wrinkled schedule.  He really doesn’t need it anymore, but he always holds onto them for the first couple of weeks of classes.

Stan’s afraid that he won’t be able to talk, that he’ll stutter like Bill used to and get caught up on his words.  But it doesn’t take long for them to fall back into their old flow.  They commiserate over Mr. Brynes, the grouchy English teacher that should have retired years ago, and Mike somehow gets Stan to promise him to help him with pre-calc.  “I’ll get you an A on your papers for Mr. Grumpy Pants, and you can tutor me in math.  It’s a perfect solution!”  Stan tries not to get hung up thinking about the logistics of these studying sessions.  

Mike even tries one of Stan’s cigarettes.  He’s coughing almost instantly and Stan laughs.  He reaches over and grabs it, flushing slightly as he puts it in his own mouth.  

Mike stares at Stan’s lips, and Stan looks away.  “Wouldn’t want to hurt those strong football lungs,” Stan mutters.

Stan thinks about asking Mike about his dad.  He really does.  He wants to ask him how Mr. Hanlon is feeling, how sick he really is.  He wants to ask him who’s taking care of the farm, if his dad can’t.  He wants to ask Mike how he’s holding up.  Most of all though, he wants to tell him to let his dad know that his thoughts are with him.  But he feels like, after all this time, he doesn’t have the right.

Instead, Stan leans against the brick wall, and asks Mike, “Why did you tell me about Eddie the other day?” Stan pushes his curls out of his face.  “I don’t think he would have been happy that you told me.”

Mike looks at the ground, and shrugs.  “I thought you needed to hear it.  I thought,” Mike knocks his head back against the bricks.  “I guess I thought hearing it would help you.  And if that meant Eddie would be mad at me for a while, so be it.  He’d eventually understand.”  Mike turns his head, and smiles at Stan.  “I guess I was wrong though.  Telling you seemed to have the exact opposite effect I was hoping for.”

Stan smiles.  “It did help, in a way.  But in that moment it just,”  Stan takes a breath and forces himself not to look away, to keep looking into Mike’s eyes.  “It made me realize that I wasn’t there.  That I missed so much.  And I couldn’t handle it.  I snapped.”

Mike reaches out, and puts his hand on top of Stan’s knee.  “Stan…”

Stan clears his throat and looks away.  “Don’t you have to get back to practice?”

Mike looks down.  “Yeah.  I do.”

Mike stands up to head to practice, but before he walks away he turns to Stan and asks, “Are you going to the party tonight?”  

Stan’s in the middle of taking a drag of his cigarette, and he chokes a little on smoke.  He coughs until he can breathe again, and he looks up at Mike, standing there expectantly, grinning.  “Yeah.  I-uh, I think Richie and I were planning on stopping by.”  He’s not sure what sense of cool he thinks he’s keeping intact.  

“Good.  I’ll see you there then,” and he turns and heads over to the field.

Not long after that, Richie comes out of the school, dragging Stan home to “doll him up.”  

5.

He’s standing in Richie’s room, staring at himself in the outfit Richie picked out for him the day before.  It’s nothing too out there - just a button up paired with jeans and his worn out boots.  But Richie demanded that Stan untuck it - which he never does - and leave the top four buttons undone - which makes him feel incredibly stupid.  It doesn’t help that Richie found the one shirt Stan hates, a short sleeved, dark blue paisley printed one; a  present from his aunt that he’s had shoved in the back of his closet for years.  But at least he fills it out a little better than he remembers, and the paisley pattern is small enough to be almost unrecognizable.  Richie doesn’t fight him on the thin cardigan to cover his arms, but he admits, if only to himself, that he would have looked better without it.

He argued with Richie over the beanie that he was trying to force on him (“It’s September Richie, I don’t _need_ a beanie!”  “A beanie isn’t something you _need_ Staniel, it’s an _statement.”)_.  

He was able to talk Richie out of the hat, but that meant that Richie had to get his hands on his hair.  After half an hour of tangles and yelling, it looks like a mess (“Fuckable Stan, it looks _fuckable._  Jeez, I’m doing you a favor here! _”)_ , and he itches to reach up and push it down.  Instead, he fidgets with his Star of David necklace that he always wears, now clearly visible with his shirt unbuttoned so much.  He tried to take it off, but Richie said it looked good, and Stan honestly feels weird without it anyways.  

He looks at himself - the sharp angles of his cheeks and collarbones, his (begrudgingly) perfectly tostled hair, and wonders what Mike will think when he sees him tonight.  He tries to push the thought out of his head.

Richie comes out the bathroom, ready to go.  He’s gone for a white henley, and the beanie that  Stan refused to wear.  He blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust his contacts, and Stan knows that this will be an all night occurrence.  He doesn’t understand why Richie insists on the contacts when they bother him so badly; he looks perfectly fine with his glasses.

Richie gives his right eye one last good blink and walks over to Stan, staring at them in the mirror.  “We look goddamn hot, don’t we!”  Stan’s surprised to find that they really do.

Richie turns to Stan.  “So what’s the game plan tonight?”

Stan turns his head.  “Game plan?  I didn’t realize we needed one.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “Of course we need a game plan!  What are your objectives for the night?  Get drunk?  Get high?  A good make out?”  Stan flushes at the last one.  “The game plan all depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”  Richie sits on Stan’s bed.  “So, what’ll be?”

Stan plops down next to him.  “I don’t know.  My game plan was to stay glued to your side all night and hope it went by quickly.”

Richie’s shoulders slump.  “Stan.  Come on.  I know you’re not excited, but can’t you promise me to try to have fun?”  Stan sighs and leans back on his bed.

“How about this Richie, I’ll wing man for you.  Brittany was eye-fucking you the other day, or if you want, I can probably get you alone with Greg.  His girlfriend’s been really touchy recently, so I’m pretty sure he’d maul any male specimen that would let him get within a foot of them in a dark, secluded area.”

Richie flops down next to Stan and groans.  “Really Stan?  Bitchy Brittany and Gropey Greg?  That’s what you got for me?”

“I don’t know if you know this, but we go to school with a bunch of assholes.  They’re literally the best options.”  Stan remembers the feeling of Mike’s hand at the base of his spine.  “Best available options,” he amends, almost too soft for Richie to hear.

“Well, then I guess getting drunk and hoping that an out of towner shows up it is.”  Richie sits up suddenly.  “Oh!  I call dibs on any community college boys!”

Stan rolls his eyes.  “Believe me, there are no arguments here.”

“What?  Community college boys not good enough for you?”  Richie pushes gently at Stan’s shoulder, grinning down at him.  “Not smart enough for 4.2 GPA Stan the Man?”  

Stan groans.  “Aren’t we already late Richie?  Shouldn’t we be heading out now?”

Richie gasps.  “Showing up on time for a party?  You really are going to be the death of me Stanley.”  He stands up and reaches for Stan’s hands.  “Let’s go grab a snack.  By the time we head out, we’ll be right on track for fashionably late.”


	3. The Party

#### 1.

The party is worse than Stan imagined.  He and Richie stand off on their own, solo cups clutched in their hands.  They’ve been there for about an hour, and so far no sign of Mike.  Stan is embarrassed to say he’s disappointed.  He just really wants to go home now.  But when he turns to tell Richie this, he sees him looking intently across the way.  Stan follows his eyesight to where Bev and Eddie stand, talking and laughing, next to the bonfire that keeps getting bigger and bigger.

“Go say hi to her,” Stan says, even though he knows it isn’t Bev that Richie’s staring at.

“What?”  Richie looks to Stan, who puts on his best smirk.  “No, I wasn’t-I was just-”

“It’s fine,” Stan downs his beer.  “I need a refill anyways.”  

Richie crosses his arms and looks at the ground.  “You should come with me.”  

Stan shakes his head.  “I’ll follow, okay?  First, you go over and say hi to Bev, and I’ll go and get a drink.”  

Richie digs his shoe into the ground.  He turns to Stan and opens his mouth.

“ _Go,"_ Stan cuts him off before he can say anything.  

Richie smiles.  “Thanks Stan.”

Stan watches Richie walk across the way to bonfire, and to Bev and Eddie.  Ben’s joined the group, holding on to Bev’s hand, and leaning slightly on her shoulder.  Stan stands there a minute longer, watching Richie approach the group.  Watching Bev throw her arms around Richie, Ben lean forward to shake his hand, only to get pulled into a hug as well.  Watching Eddie cross his arms, and stare at the ground.  Then Richie nudges him, saying something (probably inappropriate).  Eddie instantly hits him, starts yelling at him.  Stan can see the smile on Eddie’s lips from here.  

Satisfied, he walks over to keg to stand in line for a refill.  He keeps an eye on Richie and the others.  Bill joins the group, but still no Mike.  It’s finally his turn, and he feels an arm around his waist.  Stan freezes, and a waft of beer breath barricades his nose as he hears, “Well don’t you look like a treat tonight.”  It’s Gropey Greg.  

“Shit,” Stan mutters.  He turns.  Standing this close to Greg, Stan realizes that everything about him grosses him out.  His face seems too square, his eyebrows so bushy, everything about him screams beefy, beefy, beefy.  And his breath _reeks_ of beer.  

Greg tightens his arm around Stan’s waist.  “Long time no see Stanny.”  

Stan glances behind him and _of course_ there isn’t a line for the keg now.  

Stan clears his throat.  “Yeah, listen Greg, now’s not a good time.  I’ve got to go find my friend.  He was really drunk.  Puking, and...stuff.”  It sounds lame even to his own ears.

Greg just grins down at him.  “Ah come on, don’t get all shy now.”  He loosens his grip around Stan’s waist, and tugs on his arm, eyes lowering to Stan’s lips.  “We can go make out in the bushes.”  His tongue darts out and wets his lower lip.  His voice drops low.  “God, I’ve missed that mouth of yours.”

Stan shudders, and rips his arm out of Greg’s grasp.  His face is flushing, and every part of him feels dirty.  “Listen Greg, I’m flattered, but last year, that was a one time thing, okay?  You’re with Rachel, and I’m just...not interested in getting in the middle of that.”  Stan takes a step back.  “I can’t see someone who’s already in a relationship,” he adds for good measure.

Greg steps back and laughs, looking over his shoulder, suddenly anxious.  “What, you think I want to _see_ you.  To date you?  What, are you asking me to leave my girlfriend for you fag?  Your lips are good, but not _that_ good.”  

Stan takes another step back.  “No Greg, that’s the opposite of what I’m saying.  Listen, just.”  Greg is staring at the bare skin peeking out from his shirt, at his collarbones.  Stan crosses his arms, and silently curses himself for letting Richie talk him into wearing this shirt.  “I’m not interested, alright Greg?”

Greg’s face has turned red.  “ _Your_ not interested?  Listen here fag!”  He takes a step forward, and Stan curls his body away, regretting thinking it was ever a good idea to practice making out with Gropey Greg.  But then there’s someone between them.  

“I think he said he wasn’t interested.”  

Stan curls his fingers in, pushing his fingernails into his palm.

Greg twitches his head to the side, almost like a bull preparing to charge.  He laughs, short and harsh.  “I think you misunderstood what’s going on here Mike.”

Mike shakes his head.  “No, I’m pretty sure I understand what’s going on.  You made a move on my friend here and he isn’t interested.”  Then Mike’s form softens - he uncrosses his arms, lets his shoulders droop.  “Listen Greg.  All you have to do is walk away and you’ll be fine.  No harm no foul, alright?”

Greg looks at Mike uneasily, and stands up straighter, pulling back out of his crouched position.  Pushing his shoulders back.  He nods his head, and turns to leave. 

The next thing happens so quickly that Stan almost misses it.  Greg has turned back, and swings and hits Mike square on the jaw.  Mike stumbles back, reaching his arm out in search of something to steady him.  Instead, Greg hurtles into him with his shoulder, and Mike is on the ground.  Mike goes to push himself up, but Greg steps on his leg, surprisingly gently.  

“Stay down faggot,” he breathes.  “Wouldn’t want something to happen to your precious football legs, would we?”

At this point, Stan has had it.  Greg isn’t even looking at him anymore, so he bends his legs, takes off towards Greg, and slams his foot into the side of Greg’s knee.  Greg instantly crumples, grabbing at his leg.  “My knee, my _fucking_ knee!  You broke it you faggot!  You fucking broke my leg!”  

Stan notices that people have stopped to look at them now.  He glances up and over to the bonfire, but Richie and the other Losers aren’t anywhere to be seen.  He’s kind of relieved.  He turns to Mike, and reaches down to pull him up.  Mike comes up easily, seemingly barely hurt.  He’s grinning at him.  “God, that was badass Stan.”  

Stan flushes.  His eyes flit up to Mike’s face.  He frowns, and reaches up to touch Mike’s chin.  “You’re bleeding,” he whispers.  

Mike reaches down, and runs his finger along his chin.  “Huh.  I guess I am.”  Stan tilts his head, and rolls his eyes, smile on his face.

“I got some band-aids in my truck,” Mike says, nodding his head to the side, up towards the road.  “Come with me?”  

Stan's face flushes deeper, and he looks down.  “Why, you need someone to protect you?”  He peeks up at Mike.  

Mike’s face is beaming.  “Yeah, I think I need a big strong man to hold my hand.”  He reaches down and gently grasps Stan’s elbow.  “Think you can handle that for me?”  

Stan’s elbow is radiating heat, and his body is buzzing.  He grins.  “Yeah, I think I can handle that.”  He reaches down and grabs Mike’s hand, and tugs him up the hill, towards the cars.

#### 2.

Mike sits in the passenger seat of his truck while Stan smears neosporin across his chin, and then carefully aligns and applies one of the band-aid pads Mike had in his truck.  Mike’s eyes stay on Stan the whole time, and he has to go even slower, making sure his hands aren’t shaking.  

They stand there for a moment, Stan’s hand pressed against Mike’s face.  He’s very aware that he’s standing inbetween Mike’s legs.

“How’s your dad?”  Stan finally asks, half to distract himself, and half because he feels guilty how long it’s taken him to bring him up.  He was too scared to ask him at school, but now, in the dark, it feels safe.

Mike turns away.  He clears his throat.  “Not great.  He...he’s at the hospital full time now.”

Stan looks down.  Shit.  It was worse than he thought.  He backtracks.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.  I just-I’d heard he was sick and I thought…  But it isn’t really my business.”  

Mike looks directly at Stan, reaching his hand out to Stan’s chin, lifting his face.  “No, it’s fine.  He still asks me about you sometimes.  Wonders why you don’t come around anymore.”  Mike smiles.  “He’ll be glad to know you asked about him.”

Stan takes a step closer, and wraps his arms around Mike.  Mike tucks his face into Stan’s neck, hugging him back.  “I’m so sorry Mike,” Stan whispers.  “It’s so unfair.”  Mike tightens his arms around Stan.

They don’t go back to the party after that, even though Stan’s sure he should go look for Richie now.  Instead, they lay in the bed of Mike’s truck, looking up at the constellations.  

“That one there,” Stan says, barely louder than a breath, “is Cassiopeia.”  He shifts impossibly closer to Mike, pointing up at the sky.  

Mike squints.  “I’m sorry Stan, I just don’t see it.”  Mike turns his head at the same time Stan does, and their noses brush up against each other.  

 _That’s because I know shit about stars Mike._ Stan thinks he should say, his eyes locking with Mike’s.   _And you know it._

Stan feels his stomach tighten.  His eyes flick down to Mike’s mouth, and then quickly back up.  Mike looks back, bottom lip sucked up into his mouth.  His eyes shift back and forth between Stan’s.  Searching for something.  So Stan reaches up, pressing his thumb softly against Mike’s cheek.  Mike lets out a shaky breath, his eyes flickering closed.  Stan leans up, and tentatively presses a kiss on Mike’s nose.  Mike’s hand grips onto Stan’s hip.  And, just because he can, Stan tilts his head, and presses a kiss first on Mike’s right eye, and then his left.  

“ _Stan.”_ Stan pulls away a little, so he can see Mike’s face.  Mike’s eyes are open again.  He looks unsure.  Stan doesn’t want that.  So Stan shifts his hand, and presses his thumb against Mike’s mouth, dragging his bottom lip down, parting his lips.

Stan leans up, right in Mike’s space, their mouths millimeters apart.  “Mike?  Is this okay?”

He feels Mike nod, but Stan looks up at him, forcing him to make eye contact with him.

“Please Stan,” Mike mutters.

“You’re sure?”   _God please say yes Mike.  Please say yes._

“ _Yes.”_

So Stan closes the distance.  Pressing their lips together.  Mike’s mouth opens, and Stan gasps.  It takes him a second to recover - he’s thought about this moment more than he’d like to admit - but then he’s taking Mike’s bottom lip in between his own, and sucking.  

Mike groans into Stan, his hands gripping at his waist.  Stan opens his mouth, and scrapes his teeth against Mike’s lip.  “ _Stan,”_ Mike gasps out, and it makes Stan flush.  He rolls on top of Mike, straddling him, knees pressed onto the dirty truck bed.  He tilts his hips forward, and is rewarded with another, louder groan.  He leans his head down, and presses a kiss to Mike’s neck.  Mike tilts his head, giving him more access, and so Stan opens his mouth, and licks a strip up his neck.  He tastes like sweat, and salt, and grass, and it’s _exactly_ what he thought Mike would taste like.  Mike’s breath is coming out shaky, and his hand is gripping tightly onto the back of Stan’s cardigan.  

Stan leans up next to Mike’s ear and breathes out, “God you’re beautiful, you know that Mike?”Mike gasps, and Stan tilts his hips forward again, pressing a kiss beneath Mike’s ear.  

“ _I_ _’m_ beautiful?”  Mike asks, almost out of breath.  “Have you fucking seen yourself tonight?”  His eyes track to Stan’s sharp collarbone.  

Stan smiles, and leans down and kisses Mike again, both of them opening their mouths, and Stan’s tongue slides in.

Stan’s shifting his hips again, and he can feel Mike, half hard in his jeans.  Stan reaches down, to the bottom of Mike’s shirt, and he starts to pull it up.

But then Mike is sitting up, guiding Stan’s hand away.  “Stan, shit, stop.”  

Stan’s face is flushing again, but not for the reason he wants.  He tries to swing his leg back off of Mike, but Mike grabs onto the back of his thigh.  The movement pulls them closer together.

“Don’t - Stan.”  Mike sighs, and leans his head against Stan’s chest.  “Don’t go.  I just.”  He looks up at Stan.  “What are we doing?”

Stan can’t help it, he reaches down and runs his hands through Mike’s short hair.  “I thought we were making out.”  

Mike smiles softly, and shakes his head.  “You know what I mean.  I mean, we’re not even really friends anymore.”  

Stan’s surprised that his body doesn’t have any sort of visceral reaction to these words; stiffening, or going cold.  Instead, he finds they don’t really bother him.  They don’t feel true anymore.  “Well, if that’s the case, then you can kiss that pre-calc help goodbye.”

“ _Stan.”_

Stan pulls away a little now, still on Mike’s lap.  “Do ‘not friends’ help each other when they’re having panic attacks?  Do ‘not friends’ fight idiot drunks for them?  Do ‘not friends’ pretend they know about constellations just to spend a little more time with them?”  

Mike grins.  “I knew you were full of shit.”

“Of course I was full of shit.”  Stan brushes his thumb against Mike’s jaw.  “And that wasn’t just because I wanted to make out with you.”

“Why though?”  Mike’s voice is quiet.  “You clearly didn’t want to be our friend before.  Why now?”  

And then Stan’s body does react.  He feels cold.  He swing his leg around and off of Mike now, and Mike doesn’t stop him this time.  “You know what, you’re right.”  Mike reaches out for Stan’s arm, but Stan flinches away.  Mike lets his arm fall.

“Stan, I didn’t mean-”

“I think I should go find Richie now.”  Stan slides to the end of the bed, and jumps off.  Mike slides off after him.  

“I’m serious Stan, come on.  I just- What’s so bad you can’t tell me?”

Stan turns back to Mike, to yell at him he thinks.  But Mike’s standing there, with that stupid, earnest face.  This was a mistake.  All of it.

And so he says so.  “I’m sorry Mike, this was a mistake.”  The wind blows a little, cutting through Stan’s cardigan.  He wraps his arms around himself.  “I shouldn’t have come here.  This - this was all a mistake.”  He turns and walks away.

“Stan!”  He hears Mike call after him.  He starts to run.  He doesn’t stop until he gets back to the party.  He turns.  Mike didn’t follow him.  He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed.  

3.

It doesn’t take him long to find Richie.  He’s with the rest of the Losers - Bill, Ben, Bev.  And Eddie.  Tucked into Richie’s lap.  They’d wandered away from the crowd, down where they used to hang out as kids.

“It’s time to go now Richie.”

Richie’s eyebrows lower in concern.  He’s instantly up, carefully extracting Eddie from his lap.  “Hey, Stan, are you okay?  What’s wrong?”

Stan crosses his arms across his chest.  “Nothing’s _wrong_ Richie, it’s just time to go.”  

Richie opens his mouth, turns to look at the others, and then takes a step closer to Stan.  He grabs his arm, and pulls him away, closer to the noise of the party and just out of earshot from the Losers.  The others look around awkwardly, looking at anything but Stan and Richie.  

“Something’s clearly wrong Stan.  You’ve been gone for like an hour, and now you come barging down, covered in dirt,” Richie’s eyes move up to Stan’s hair.  “Hair more ruffled than it was intended to be.  What happened?”  

“Oh, _now_ you care that I disappeared?”  Stan’s voice is quiet, but pointed.

Richie rolls his eyes, and opens his mouth, probably to make a joke and brush it off.

Stan interrupts him before he can even speak.  “Anything could have happened to me!”  

Richie frowns.  “I’m sorry Stan, I didn’t think-”

“That’s right Richie, you never _think_.  You just do whatever it is that you want to do, consequences be damned!”

Richie crosses his arms. “That’s not fair.  You told me to go and talk to Bev and Eddie, it’s not like I just wandered off!”

“And what did you think when I didn’t show up! _”_

Richie looks away, “I lost track of time, okay?”

Richie looks guilty, and Stan forces himself to take a breath.  It’s not Richie’s fault that he’s upset, and the familiar sourness of guilt starts to rise.  He says, quieter now, “Come on Richie, let’s just go home.”

But Richie stands his ground.  “Not until you tell me what happened.”  Then Richie’s eyes go dark, like he’s realizing something.  “Was it Greg?  Did that son of a bitch corner you, I’m gonna kick his closeted, homophobic-”

“It wasn’t Greg.”   _At least, not really._  Stan thinks.

“Then Jesus Stan, what is it?”  Richie asks, slightly exasperated now.  

Stan hugs his body tighter.  “Can we please just go Richie?  It wasn’t anything.”

“We both know that isn’t-” Richie flails his arms as he’s talking, agitated, and it collides with a group of people, walking off from the party.  One guy’s drink sloshes out of his hand, flinging onto Richie and Stan.

Stan freezes, as tepid, sticky, stinky beer seeps into his sweater.  The group moves on, too drunk to care.

“Shit Stan, I’m sorry,” Richie’s face instantly furrows.  He reaches out, trying to pat Stan dry with his hands, reaching to remove his wet and sticky cardigan.

“ _Don’t!”_ Stan lurches back, clinging onto his cardigan.  “What the fuck are you thinking?”  Stan realizes his voice is loud enough for the Losers to hear, and they’re all staring at them now.

Richie’s face pales.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t think.  Let’s just, let’s go home now.  You’re right.  The party’s over.  Let’s go.”  Richie grabs onto Stan’s arm.

Stan rips his arm from Richie’s grasp.  “Don’t _touch_ me.”  Stan hisses out.

Richie’s eyes dart back to the Losers - to Bill, Ben, Bev, and Eddie.  Just a quick glance, but it’s enough.

“Stay if you want to.”

A flush starts on Richie’s neck.  “I wasn’t-I just- They can hear us, you know?”

Stan knows he’s far beyond reasonable now, but it doesn’t matter.  He’s mad.  He’s mad at Bev, for inviting them to this party.  He’s mad at Eddie for being so cordial, for fucking _respecting his wishes to not be friends with them_.  He’s mad at Mike, for caring so damn much, for always being there for him when he needs him.  He’s mad at Richie, for instantly falling so easily back in with Losers when Stan feels like his heart is going to explode anytime he even talks to one of them.  But mostly he’s mad at himself.  He’s mad at himself for how cowardly he’s being.  He’s mad at himself for how angry he’s getting.  He’s mad at himself for being so stupid, for pulling away from the Losers in the first place.  He’s mad at himself for the mistake he made two years ago, and how he can’t seem to get out from under it.

So instead of being reasonable, Stan opens his mouth, and practically snarls, “So what if they can hear us Richie?  What, you don’t want to ruin your chance of becoming friends with them again?  Or is it that you don’t want to ruin your chances of getting in Eddie’s pants?”

Stan watches as Richie’s face goes blank, and it feels like someone has reached in and grabbed his lungs and squeezed.  It’s so close to the face he had That Day.

His voice is quiet, emotionless.  “Come on Stan.  Let’s go home.  We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Stan inches the cardigan sleeves down impossibly lower, gripping them in his fingers.

“No.”  Stan’s voice is just as quiet.  “You stay here.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”  And that’s the final straw, tears stream down Stan’s face.  

“I’ll be fine Richie.  My parents are home.”

"Let me walk you, at least.”

“Richie.”

“I’m serious Stan.”

“I am too.”  Stan takes a shaky breath.  He says, just quietly enough so that the others can’t hear.  “I’m not going to try to kill myself again Richie.”  The words are harsh and angry, and Richie flinches at them.  “You think I don’t realize how big a mistake that was?  Cause I do.  I know what it did to you.”  His voice spikes, and he has to take a breath to keep quiet.  “I’m sorry, okay?  I’m sorry.”  Stan wipes the tears from his cheek.  His words are quieter now, softer.  “But I need to go now.  I need to be alone.  And I need you to not worry about me.  I don’t think I can take the guilt of knowing you’re worrying.”

Richie nods.  “You promise you’re okay?”

Stan laughs at that - short and harsh.  “No, but I can promise I won’t do anything stupid.”  Richie opens his mouth.  “I won’t try to hurt myself Richie, I promise.”

Richie still looks unsure, but he nods.  “Call me when you get home though, okay?  Just to let me know you got home safe?”  Stan is so relieved.  He nods back

Richie reaches forward and pulls Stan into a hug, burying his face face into his neck.  

4.

Stan had told his parents that he was staying over at Richie’s, so when he gets home his parents are already asleep.  He gives Richie a quick call, letting him know that he’s home, and then he crawls into his bed, and starts to sob.


	4. Confessions

#### 1.

Stan wakes up to a knocking on the front door.  He starts to drift back off, but then he hears his mom say, “I’m sorry Eddie, Stan’s not here.  He spent the night at Richie’s last night.”

Stan sits up.  He hears Eddie’s quiet voice say, “Richie and Stan had a fight last night Mrs. Uris.  He said he was coming home.”

Stan hears frantic footsteps down the hall and his door is ripped open.  His mom brings her hand up to her mouth, relieved to find her son in his bed.  Stan winces. 

Stan runs his hand through his hair.  “I’m sorry mom.  You guys were already asleep when I got home and I didn’t want to wake you.”

His mom just shakes her head, and smiles tightly.  It’s not like she can yell at her son because she found him asleep in his own bed.  “Eddie’s at the door.  Do you want to talk to him?”

He doesn’t really.  His mind jumps from one guilt to another.  If Eddie’s here, it’s to yell at him.  And as much as he thinks he might feel better if someone shouted at him, he doesn’t think he can stand it to be little angry Eddie, who will know just the right things to say to confirm all the horrible things that Stan already knows about himself.  But he’s curious.  Why now?  Just because of last night?  What he overheard?  It couldn’t have been much.   Stan bites his lip.  He doesn’t actually know how loud they were.  He should talk to Eddie, just to make sure…

“Hold on,” he says to his mom.  He gets up and riffles in his dresser, pulling out sleep bottoms and a sweatshirt.  He pulls them on and sits back down on his bed.  “Okay.”

She leaves and a moment later Eddie walks in.  The instant he lays eyes on Stan his jaw clenches, and his eyes narrow.  He shuts the door.  Stan’s chest tightens.  This may have been a bad idea.  

“Hi Eddie.  What, uh.  What are you doing here?”  Stan reaches up and scratches the back of his neck.

Eddie doesn’t miss a beat.  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”  He asks.

Stan feels like the air is deflating from his lungs.  “I don’t-”

“I mean, really, what the fuck is wrong with you!  Mike has never been _anything_ other than kind to you.  Mike is the _sweetest_ guy you could possibly meet Stan, and he’s always there when you need him.  And you’ve been terrible to him!”

Stan feels his insides twist.  Out of everything he expected Eddie to be angry about, he hadn’t even considered this.  Although, really, it was stupid of him not to.  Of course he’s come to defend his friend.  “Eddie-”

“No!”  Eddie shouts, cutting Stan off.  He takes a step forward and then stops, not really having anywhere to go.  He glares at Stan, and his hands clench into fists at his side.  “He always went out of his way to make you feel comfortable, you know that Stan?  And then you go and disappear!  Stop talking to him!  Dunzo!  And then he, he what?  He helps you through a panic attack?  He gets beat up by some guy for you?”  Eddie lets out a mangled laugh.  “And then you just, you leave him again?  You’re _awful._ ”

It’s everything he’s feeling and more.  “You’re right,” Stan stays quietly.

Eddie continues on, and Stan doesn’t know if Eddie even heard him.  

“Do you have any idea how hurt he was last night Stan?  Do you?”  Stan looks away, but he can’t speak up.  “Have you ever seen Mike cry Stan?  He fucking blamed _himself._  That’s fucking _bullshit_ Stan!  This is your fault Stan!  His dad could be _dying_ Stan and you can’t even-”

“I know Eddie, okay!”  It’s the mention of Mike’s dad that makes Stan finally snap.  He feels embarrassed instantly afterwards.  He says, quieter this time, “You’re right.  I’ve been awful.  I get it, okay?  Is that why you came over here?  To tell me that?  Well, your job’s done, cause I already know.  You can’t make me feel any worse than I already do.”  Except he kind of did.  The thought of Mike crying because of _Stan_ makes his stomach tighten and churn.  

Eddie crosses his arms, his eyes piercing Stan, seeing through him.  “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad Stan.  I came over here to see if you were okay.”

Stan blinks.  “What?”

Eddie uncrosses his arms, and his eyes soften.  He leans his head back, and sighs.  “I didn’t hear everything you and Richie said last night, but I heard some of it.  Enough to know that Richie was worried about you.”  Eddie scuffs his foot against Stan’s carpet.  “Not just, “I have a test I didn’t study for” worried, more like full blown, “I’ve lost the baby and don’t where to look” type of panic.”

Stan can’t help but smile, despite everything.  “Lost the baby?”

Eddie scowls at him.  “It’s an expression.”  Eddie comes over, and sits down on Stan’s bed, barely on the edge.  He looks down.  “Despite how mad I am at you for the Mike thing, I came over here because it scared me last night, how completely and utterly terrified Richie was until you called him to tell him you were home.”  Eddie intertwines his fingers together.  “I haven’t seen anyone that scared since… Oh well, you know.”  Stan looks down, trying not to panic.  

“I didn’t mean to yell,” Eddie says, softer.  “I just kind of...saw your face and couldn’t help myself.  All I could think of was Mike laying on my floor last night, crying.”

“Well, I mean, you were right,” Stan says.

“I know.”  But there’s a smile in his voice, and Stan kind of can’t believe it.  He looks over at Eddie.  “But I know you Stan and I can’t believe that you don’t have a reason.  That you’re trying to hurt Mike.  To hurt us.”

Stan opens his mouth.  He doesn’t know what to say to this.  

“Look.  I get...I get the anxiety thing, okay?”  Eddie says.  “I know it’s hard to explain.  And I know how debilitating it can be.  Especially without a support system.  It took me _so long_ to tell the others.  But there’s something else isn’t there?”  Eddie looks at Stan, and his eyes trail down to Stan’s covered arms.  Stan tugs the sleeves down.

“Why do you care?”  It was supposed to come out harsh and cruel, but instead it’s a whisper, more frightened than fierce.  “I thought I was the asshole that hurt your friend?”

Eddie looks down.  “You are.  But you’re also hurting another one of my friends.”  

“Richie?”  Stan asks.  Regardless of whatever Richie and Eddie will say, he saw the way they tucked into each other last night, instantly reconnected.  Stan’s sure Eddie didn’t like the way he yelled at Richie and made him worry the night before.

Eddie rolls his eyes.  “No Stan, not Richie.  You.  You’re the friend that you’re hurting.”  Eddie picks at Stan’s sheets.  “I know that we haven’t talked in a long time, and that I’ve been kind of harsh when you tried.  That was - I mean, I was mad at you for leaving and it made me angry that you just...casually tried to be my friend again.”  Stan’s a little afraid Eddie’ll pick a hole right through the sheets.  “I just…  I need you to know that I still care about you.  That I’m here, if you ever need me.”

It surprises him, but maybe not as much as it should.  “Bonded by the shared trauma,” Stan says, almost bitterly.

Eddie’s shaking his head.  “Not just because of that Stan.”  Eddie grips into the bed.  “Don’t you remember that summer, before everything happened?  Despite all the other shit, we were happy.  Unabashedly, uncontrollably happy.  We were together.  A unit.  A family.  Nothing could break us.”  Eddie looked down.  “Or so I thought.”

Stan did remember.  He remembers how whole he felt, the 7 of them all together.  He remembers how calm he felt, despite the eminent threat, when they would just hang out.  He even remembers the slight thrill of trying to find a way to overcome It, before it all started to unravel.  But afterwards, they weren’t the 7 anymore, because It was still coming and no one seemed to understand.  

Stan’s nodding, but he says, “I couldn’t Eddie.  I just couldn’t, okay?  You don’t understand.”

“We would have been with you through anything Stan.”  And those words are worse than the anger.

“I was a coward, don’t you get it?”  Stan’s voice is barely a whisper.  “I ran away when it was important.  And I couldn’t face you guys after that.”

Eddie’s frowning.  “What are you talking about Stan?  You didn’t run away.  You-.”

“Not in the tunnels.”  Stan interrupts him, tugging at his sleeves again.  

Eddie’s eyes track there, and he reaches out and touches the sleeve of Stan’s hoodie.  He waits a second.  Stan doesn’t protest.  Eddie starts to push the sleeves up.  Then he pauses.  He looks up into Stan’s eyes.  “Is this ok?”

Stan nods.  It’ll be easier this way.

When Eddie sees the scar he exhales.  His hands are shaking, and he reaches up, lightly traces his hand down Stan’s arm.  

“I wondered…” Eddie muttered.  “From what I caught from your conversation last night.  I...I wondered.”

“I’m not suicidal.”  Stan breathes out.  “I just...I was having the dreams again, and they wouldn’t stop.  I knew It wasn’t dead, and I thought - I _knew_ \- It was coming back.  And I didn’t want to be here when It did.  I knew it was a mistake when I woke up in the hospital, but It’s still alive Eddie - I couldn’t…”  Stan trails off.  “I couldn’t stand to be around you guys After.  Knowing...”

“Stan...you should have told us.”

“Jesus Eddie, do you not get it?  I was going to leave you guys!  I was scared, and selfish, and I would have left you guys to fight It on your own.  Left you guys for It to get you and tear you apart.”   _To tear Mike apart._  “How do you think I could be around you after that, knowing what a fucking coward I was?  Knowing that I didn’t deserve to have you as friends?  I couldn’t-”  Stan takes a shaky breath, trying to calm him himself.  “If I left, then at least I wouldn’t have to be reminded of it every damn day.”

Eddie’s expression stays pretty much the same.  “But you didn’t in the end.”

“What?”  

“Kill yourself.  You didn’t kill yourself.”

“Only cause Richie-”

“What, you couldn’t have finished the job once he left?”  Stan flinches, and Eddie looks ashamed of his words.  “Sorry, that wasn’t what I meant at all.  I just mean that afterwards, you could have found another way to kill yourself.  But you chose not to.  You’re still here.  One mistake doesn’t define you Stan.”

 _One mistake doesn’t define you_.  Eddie doesn’t know that those are the exact words that Stan needed to hear, that on his list of best case scenarios, none of them were even close to as good as these words feel.  

Stan’s crying suddenly.  Eddie’s eyes widen, his back stiffens.  And so Stan starts to laugh as well.  He’s sobbing and laughing, and suddenly Eddie starts to laugh too.  Stan leans on Eddie, unable to control himself.  His door opens, and his mom’s concerned face is there, and then he’s laughing more.  And Eddie’s arms are around him, and they’re both laughing and crying.  

#### 2.

They lay there on their backs a while afterwards, next to each other, silent.  

Finally, Eddie curls on his side, and studies Stan.  “Mike doesn’t know?”

Stan shakes his head.  “Only Richie.  He-uh...he was the one that found me.”

Eddie’s nodding his head absentmindedly.  “Is that why he stopped hanging out with us too?”

Once again, Stan’s mind tracks back to Thursday and what Richie said.  “You should ask Richie that.”  Stan finally curls onto his side, facing Eddie.  “He told me it was more than that, for him.  I’m not sure if he just said that so I wouldn’t feel bad though.  He’s always watching out for me.”  Stan’s grabbed onto his bed sheet, and is rubbing the material between his thumb and index finger.  “I’m sorry I took him away from you.”  Stan says quietly.  “Don’t stay mad at him because of me.”

“You didn’t take him away from me.”  Eddie smiles, and nudges Stan’s leg with his foot.  “And how could I stay mad at him?  He was protecting his best friend.”

It hurts a little, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Are you going to tell Mike?”  Eddie asks.  “Tell the others?”

Stan shrugs, and looks down, even though he’s already decided he will.  That he has to.

“You should.  They won’t judge you for it, Stan.  They just want you to be okay.  They miss you.   _We_ miss you.”

“I miss you guys too.”  And Stan’s shaking a little.  “I want to tell them.  I just don’t know how.  And,” Stan takes a breath.  “I should probably tell Mike first.”  Stan closes his eyes.  “ _God_ , he’s not even going to want to see me after last night.”

Eddie laughs at that, and Stan looks up.  “Are you kidding me?”  He asks.  “I don’t think you could do anything to get that boy to stop talking to you.”

Stan’s grinning, he can’t help it.  “You should go over there now,” Eddie says.

Stan swallows.  “Now?”

“Yeah.  Now.  No time like the present and all that shit.”  Eddie nudges him with his foot again.  “And then afterwards we can all get together for lunch.”  Stan must look panicked, because Eddie continues, “You don’t have to tell everyone right away.  But they’ll want to see you again.  And then you can tell them when you’re ready.”

Stan nods.  “Yeah.  That sounds good.”  

“Good.”  Eddie smiles.  “I’ll text you the time and place.”

#### 3.

As Stan walks over to Mike’s, he pulls out his phone and calls Richie.  Richie picks up almost instantly.

“Stanley,” Richie answers quietly, almost sheepishly.  

“Richard,” Stan responds, smiling to himself.

Before Stan can get a word in, Richie launches off at record speed.  “Listen, Stan, I’m sorry about last night.  I should have-”

But Stan cuts him off.  “Richie don’t.  I was being an ass okay?  I know I was.  You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Yeah, but I still should have paid better attention Stan.  I was the whole reason you were there - I should have noticed that you were gone.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Stan says quietly.  “You shouldn’t have to watch over me all the time.”

It’s quiet for a second.  Then, “I don’t mind Stan.  I just want you to be okay.”

“I know,” Stan says, smiling.  “I don’t deserve you, you know that?”  He clears his throat.  And then, partially to change the subject and partially to spit it out before he can think better of it, he says, “Last night, when I disappeared?  I was with Mike.  We went up to his truck and talked and made out.”

Richie’s silent.  It makes Stan a little nervous.  “Oh Stan.  Then why-what happened?  Why were you so freaked out?  I know you’ve - you and Mike you…  I know you guys have always had the biggest crushes on each other.”

“It was that obvious, huh?”  Stan asks, already knowing the answer.

“Dude, you guys were clearly over the fucking moon for each other.  You spent practically every hour of every day together.  The whole school could see it.”

Stan doesn’t know what to say to that, so he takes a breath and says, “He wanted to know why we weren’t friends anymore, and I couldn’t tell him.”  He rushes to finish, before he can chicken out.  “I’m going over there to tell him now.”

Silence.  Again.  Stan kicks a rock down along the side of the road.  It’s making him kind of nauseous, as he imagines Richie tucked up in his bed, his brain on overdrive, thinking of the just the right thing to say.  Finally, “Stan...are you sure?”

Stan nods, forgetting Richie can’t see him.  “Yeah.  I had a trial run this morning.  I told Eddie.”

He can hear Richie’s intake of breath.  “You told Eddie?  How did he…  Why did you... What?”

“He came over to see if I was okay.”

“He did what?”

“Well, I mean, he also came over to yell at me.”  Richie laughs.  “But mostly to make sure I was okay, after last night.  I think all the pieces - what he heard from Mike, what he saw from you, what he heard from us arguing - had him worried.  And it just kind of...it just kind of happened.”

“He wasn’t a complete jerk, was he?”  Stan can hear the worry in Richie’s voice.  He knows Richie doesn’t want to be mad at Eddie.

“No.  He was actually really good about it.  And he said...he said some things I needed to hear.  It kind of made me feel stupid for waiting so long to say anything.”

“You weren’t ready Stan,” Richie says.  “It’s all about timing, you know?  If you had told him when it was still fresh and raw, do you think you would have even been able to hear anything he said?  Do you think you would have been stable enough to walk away from that conversation?  You needed time Stan.  And that’s okay.”

“You should call him,” Stan blurts.

“What?”

“Eddie.  You should call him.  He misses you.”

“Stan-”

“You guys weren’t so subtle yourselves.”

“Jesus, Stan I-”

“Listen, Richie, I gotta go.  I’m at Mike’s house.  But just call him, okay?”

There’s a pause.  “Okay.”

“Promise?”

Richie laughs.  “Fuck Stan, I promise.”  There’s a pause.  Then,  “Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really proud of you.”

#### 4.

Stan stands at the door, reaching his hand up for the 5th time, before pulling it down.  He has to go in, he tells himself.  He already told Richie he would.  Told Eddie he would.  They’d be disappointed in him if he didn’t.  He’d be disappointed in himself if he didn’t.  

He jumps in place three times, his eyes closed, looking down.  Then he takes a step forward, and knocks.

It’s Mike’s mom who opens the door.  When she sees him she smiles.  “Well Stan!  Isn’t this a surprise?”  She beckons him in.  

He steps in the door, unsure of what to say.  

“It’s been quite some time since we’ve seen you here.  You here to see Mike?”  She asks.

He nods.  “Yeah.”

“He’s in his room.  Go ahead.”

Stan walks down the familiar hall towards Mike’s room.  The Hanlon home had never been pristine.  It’s part of what Stan liked about it.  It was always just slightly messy and ragged.  It was lived in, with memories of the Hanlon family etched into every corner.  But now Stan can see the dust starting to build.  More dishes, and books, and shoes out of place than normal.  Mike’s mom has probably been tending to the farm now that his dad’s in the hospital.  He worries how much longer they’ll be able to stay on top of it without Mike’s dad.  

His hand pauses before knocking on Mike's door.  He glances back down the hall.  He can’t see Mrs. Hanlon, so he reaches for the handle, and pushes the door open.

Mike’s on his bed, reading a book.  When he sees Stan, he sits up, puts the book aside.  “Stan, what are you doing here?”

Stan closes the door behind him, but doesn’t move forward.  “You were right.”

“Stan?”

Stan takes a step forward, and then hesitates.  “Last night.  You were right.  You deserve to know.  You deserve to know why I abandoned you guys.”

Mike pulls his legs up to his chest, and tries to smile.  “No, Stan, it’s fine.  I pushed too hard.  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Stan has an urge to say, “Ok!”, turn around, and go back out the door.  Screw all those things he said to Eddie and Richie.  Because what’s Stan going to do if this changes everything?  If Mike never looks at him the same?  

Instead he takes a breath, and says, “But I do want to Mike.  That was why I distanced myself from you, okay?  I almost told you too many times.”  Stan reaches up and scratches the back of his neck.  “And I was scared you wouldn’t see me the same way after you knew.”

Mike crosses his arms across his legs, and tucks his head on top of his knee.  “Stan, nothing could change how I see you.”

Stan looks down.  “Yeah.  We’ll see.”  He fidgets with the edge of sleeves.  He doesn’t know how to start.  He walks over to Mike’s bed, and sits on the edge.  

He thinks back to earlier, letting Eddie roll up his sleeves and decides that it’s easier that way.  So he pushes up first one sleeve, then the other.  He says quietly, “Two years ago I tried to kill myself.”

Mike doesn’t react.  His eyes are on Stan’s arms, but his face doesn’t change.  He makes no sound of shock.

Stan opens his mouth again, but he’s afraid that whatever he says will be the wrong thing.  He looks up at Mike, and he can’t do this.  He stands up, tugging down his sleeve.  And Mike’s hand is on his wrist.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he says softly.

Stan’s hand is shaking, but he allows Mike to pull him back down onto his bed.  

Mike reaches up with his other hand, and places it on Stan’s jawline, pulling Stan’s face towards him.  Stan looks up at Mike, and he can feel the tears track down his face.  Mike leans forward, and presses a kiss to Stan’s forehead, and then wraps his arms around Stan.  Stan falls apart then, sobbing into Mike’s shoulder.  Mike pulls him closer.  

When he finally pulls away, he sees that Mike has been crying too.  

Stan tries to smile, but only succeeds in tweaking the corner of one lip up.

And then Mike says, “How could you think I’d see you differently for this?  How could you not trust me?”

And it feels like glass shattering inside of him.  Everything fragile, broken, skewering him from the inside out.  But he takes a breath.  He owes this to Mike.

He thinks about his conversation with Richie, about what he said about timing.  And so he tells him the truth.  “Because I couldn’t look at myself the same way anymore Mike.”  It feel good to say, so he rushes to continue.  “I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without being disgusted.  I could barely be alone with my own thoughts without feeling dirty and broken and _wrong_.  And if that was how I felt, how could I expect you to feel any different?”

“Because I love you Stan.”  Stan takes a sharp breath of air.  “I’ve loved you for God knows how long, and nothing you could do or say could change that.  I could have been there for you.  I could have helped you.”

Stan tucks the love comment away for later.  That’s a completely different thing to panic about.  

“It helped that you didn’t know.”  He looks up at Mike, and he can see that this hurt him even more.  Stan sighs.  He’s crap at explaining this.  He tries again.  “I needed you to not know, okay Mike?  In that moment, after it happened, I needed to know that someone still knew the me Before.  That someone would look at me and see someone brave.  Someone smart.  Someone worth loving.”

Mike leans forward, reaching out with his hands, cupping Stan’s face.  “But Stan.  You are brave.  You are smart.  You are worth loving.  This doesn’t change that.” Mike’s right thumb digs into Stan’s cheek a little.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Mike says.  “No more sorries, okay?  I’m glad you told me.”

Stan feels warm.  He nods and Mike tugs Stan’s arm, dragging him to lay down on his bed.  They lay there, facing each other, Mike’s hand slowly tracing circles on Stan’s shoulder.

“Why?”  Mike finally asks.  “Why’d you…  Why’d you try to kill yourself?”

“Because It isn’t dead Mike.”  Stan manages to say.  “And I couldn’t do it again.  I couldn’t do it knowing that my worst fear was you.”  Stan hears Mike inhale.  “Every night Mike, I dreamt of you dead.  Of it being my fault.  Of It using you to destroy me.  And I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“ _S_ _tan,”_ Mike breathes out.  And then his lips are on Stan’s.  Just a quick flutter of mouth against mouth.

He pulls back.  “It’s dead Stan.  We saw Bill kill It.”

Stan has to take a moment to catch his breath.  Then he’s shaking his head.  “That’s not what matters right now Mike.  That’s not what this is about.”

“It is though, isn’t it?  If you still think It’s alive what’s to stop you from-”

“No.”  Stan cuts him off.  “I’m not going to try to kill myself again Mike.  I realized that was a mistake the moment I woke up After.”  Stan sighs.  “It doesn’t matter, okay?  It doesn’t matter if It’s still alive because it’s about being able to move on from that.  About being able to move forward.  That’s why I came here today Mike.  I want to move forward - with us, with the rest of the Losers, with my life.  And I can’t do that if I keep holding onto this.”  Stan takes a shaky breath.  “I can’t dwell on it.  If It comes back, It comes back.  We’ll deal with it then.  For now I need to deal with everything else.”

Mike’s nodding.  “Is there…I’m sorry if this is a weird time to ask, but...Is there an us to move forward with?”

Stan bites his lip.  “Do you want there to be?”

“You know how I feel about you Stan.”  Mike reaches out, and runs his hand through Stan’s hair.  

Stan looks away.  “Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“When you said you loved me?”

Mike puts his hand on Stan’s jaw, pulling his face back towards him.  He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss on the corner of Stan’s mouth.  “Of course I did.”

“Mike, I - I love you too.”  He buries his head into Mike’s chest.  “Please I - I want there to be an us.  I miss you Mike.  I missed you so much.”

Mike’s lips are on Stan’s instantly, and he’s pushing him back, crawling on top of him.  Stan runs his hand up and under Mike's shirt, scraping his fingers across his chest.    

Mike grabs the bottom of Stan’s sweatshirt, pulling it off and over his head.  Stan isn’t wearing anything underneath it, and he can feel his body going red.  Mike leans down, kissing Stan’s neck, his collarbone, and down his chest.  

#### 5.

They’re laying there, lips kiss bruised and sore, when Stan gets a text from Eddie.  He leans over and reads it.

“We’re going to lunch with the rest of the Losers in an hour.”

Mike’s eyebrows go up.  “And when was this arranged?”

Stan doesn’t look Mike in the eye.  “When Eddie came over to yell at me this morning.”

Stan peaks at Mike, and he’s grinning.  “God, of course he did.”  The smile freezes on his face, and he cocks his head, as if he’s just thought of something.  He turns to Stan.  “Did you tell him?”

Stan’s body goes cold.  He doesn’t want Mike to feel bad, but he doesn’t want to lie.  He nods.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you first.  I - I just couldn’t.”

Mike smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.  “It’s alright.”

Stan leans forward and presses a kiss to Mike’s lips.  “I wanted to tell you first, ok?  But it was easier with Eddie.  I already knew he hated me.  If it didn’t go well, I hadn’t lost much more.  If I had tried to tell you first I would have just panicked.  There was just too much on the line if it all went wrong.”

Mike smiles and nods.  He runs his hand through the side of Stan’s hair.  “I get it.”  He leans forward and kisses Stan’s nose.  “I wish you had told me first, but I get it.  It’s a process.”  Stan curls his arms around Mike.  

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Mike’s saying, “Eddie never hated you Stan.  You know that, right?  None of them did.  They were just worried and hurt.”

“I know,” Stan says quietly.  “But I hated myself for leaving enough for them all.”

Mike’s silent for a beat.  Then, “Are you going to tell them why?”

Stan nod.  “Eventually.  Not today.  But eventually.”  He looks up at Mike.  “After lunch, can we visit your dad?  Or would that...would that be weird?”

Mike smiles, and presses a kiss on the top of Stan’s head.  “No.  No, that would be good.  Dad would love that.   _I_ would love that.”

Stan looks up at Mike, and he can see Mike’s eyes track from his disheveled hair, to his flushed cheeks, to his parted lips.  He reaches down, and presses his thumb against Stan’s lips.  “What time did you say we had to be at lunch?”

“Not for another hour,” Stan whispers.

“Thank God,” Mike mutters, and then he leans down, and captures Stan’s mouth.  Stan thinks he can get used to this.


	5. Epilogue

#### 2 weeks later

Stan paces in Richie’s basement, nervously waiting for the rest of the Losers to get there.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  Richie asks from the couch.  His eyes track Stan’s movements back and forth.  “It’s awful soon.  You don’t have to until you’re ready.”

Stan’s shaking his head.  “I’m never going to be ready Richie.  But I need to.  It - I’m never going to feel completely okay around them until they know.  And they deserve to know.”

Richie nods.  Stan hears steps coming down the stairs.  He turns to see Mike and Eddie coming down.  Stan walks over and grabs Mike’s waist, pulling him in for a quick peck.  Eddie rolls his eyes, but he goes and sits next to Richie, tucking himself in right by his side.  Stan thinks he sees Richie lean down, and kiss his cheek.

“You okay?”  Mike asks, brushing his thumb against Stan’s chin.

Stan nods, leaning into Mike.  “Just nervous.”

Mike wraps his arms him.  “It’ll be fine Stan.”

The others arrive shortly after that - first Bill, then Bev and Ben.  Everyone’s chatting absentmindedly - they keep looking at Stan, waiting for him to speak.  They know he has something to say, and they can tell it’s important.

Stan gets up shakily, and everyone goes quiet.  It should be easy - 3 out of the 6 already know.  But his brain goes fuzzy and he doesn’t really know what he’s saying.  His eyes flit to Mike and Eddie and Richie for support.  When he pulls up his sleeves, he can hear Bev gasp.  She’s the first one up, pulling him into a hug.  

“We’ll always be here for you Stan,” she mutters into his hair.  

“I know,” Stan says, tears streaking his face.  “I’m sorry.”  

Bill’s next to him then, hand on his upper back.  “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

And then Ben’s there too.  “We’re just glad you told us.”

Stan leans against them all.

“To hell with this,” he hears Richie say.  “Group hug!”  

Eddie groans as Richie drags him up, and Bev laughs, as everyone tangles together, squishing closer.  Through the mess of bodies he feels Mike take his hand.  Stan looks up at him and smiles.  

Stan still hates himself, a little.  He’ll always feel guilty for what he tried to do, and cowardly for hiding it.  And he feels foolish, for not telling everyone sooner.  Of course they would all be there for them.  He never really expected anything else.  

But all of that is a dull feeling - shoved to the back of his head.  Mostly he just feels relieved and exhausted.  He looks up at his friends and feels so overwhelmingly happy.  This is something, he tells himself, that he will never give up again.  He will fight for this, no matter the cost.  He bottles this feeling in his mind, to save for later, when he needs it.  The others don’t believe him, but It will be back.  And this is what’s going to save them.  They’re all here for him now when he needs them, and he’ll be there for them then, he promises himself, when it matters.


End file.
